


Time Is Not On Our Side

by soulfulsam



Series: Timing Is Everything [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward First Times, Awkward Sexual Situations, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Harmony & Co Advent Collection, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsam/pseuds/soulfulsam
Summary: For as long as he could remember, it seemed to Harry that a surprising number of people had either expected or for some reason sometimes had even become personally invested in he and Hermione getting together as a couple. He couldn't exactly say himself why they had never become boyfriend and girlfriend. Maybe it was just never the right time. However, during their time alone hunting horcruxes in Ron's absence, everything they thought they knew about their friendship was about to change, even as they could feel the time they had left on this earth grow short.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Series: Timing Is Everything [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570120
Comments: 21
Kudos: 165
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2019





	Time Is Not On Our Side

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! Thank you so much for clicking on my story. Quick note before we start: While this story doesn't go into Ron bashing, he is also not portrayed in the most favorable light in this story. Just a quick heads up in case that might bother anyone.
> 
> This is my first Harry Potter fan fiction, so I'd love to know what you think if you would be so kind. I accept and appreciate constructive criticism as well as praise. Thanks!

For as long as he could remember, it seemed to Harry that a surprising number of people had either expected or for some reason sometimes had even become personally invested in he and Hermione getting together as a couple. It had started off subtly enough; halfway through First Year, Malfoy had begun referring to Hermione as Harry’s “pet mudblood” or his “mudblood girlfriend” and had gotten other Slytherins to do it as well. Harry had brushed that off because he knew Malfoy was just trying to get under their skin. In Third Year, a giggling Hufflepuff who Harry had noticed staring at him a couple of times in Transfiguration that year had rushed up to Hermione and asked, much to their confusion, what it was like to “kiss the famous Harry Potter.” He had shrugged that one off as well. But things really began to escalate in Fourth Year. Not only had no one had trouble believing Rita Skeeter’s article about them being a couple, but whenever Harry and Hermione walked down the corridors together for a brief time afterwards it had been accompanied with a constant thrum of whispers like ‘I knew it!’ or ‘it’s about time!’. When he had asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball that year, she had stared at him in open-mouthed bewilderment and asked if something horrible had happened to Hermione. Molly had even believed the rumors so adamantly that, after news broke of Hermione’s relationship with Viktor Krum, she had refused to knit her a Christmas sweater that year because she had mistakenly thought that Hermione had actually cheated on him with Krum. The rumors about them had mostly quieted down by Fifth Year, save for the occasional jealous stare or comment from Ron or the odd article from Rita Skeeter, who either still had hard feelings over how they had treated her during the Tri-Wizard Tournament or had dedicated herself to being the most bizarre, twisted matchmaker Harry had ever seen.

Harry couldn’t even exactly say why they hadn’t gotten together. At first, he would admit, he had taken Hermione for granted. She was always there by his side, and he had begun to think of her as a fixture in his life, sort of like a favorite lamp. But even when he had started to notice her shapely curves in Fourth Year, by that time she and Ron clearly had had crushes on each other and so he boxed her away in his mind as ‘Off Limits.’ He still admired her, in every way one person can admire another and occasionally wondered what it would feel like to walk down the corridors at Hogwarts proudly holding her hand. He even sometimes had dreams about getting to kiss her, hold her, feel her skin against his own. But emotionally he backed away every time he felt himself start to seriously entertain the fantasy of what it would be like to be with Hermione in that way. Still, he did wonder why it had never happened, or what she fancied about Ron over him and, from the jealous sideways glances and rude comments Ron still sometimes shot their way when he and Hermione got too close, he could tell Ron was wondering that, himself.

Out of all the ways and throughout all the years that they could have gotten together, it happened though, as it turned out, during what should have been their Seventh Year, in a tent, and on the most unexpected of nights. Harry was sitting outside the tent, keeping watch on his shift. He had lost track of how long he had been seated on the cold, hard rock beneath him, but his arse had gone numb some time ago. He wasn’t sure he had ever fully understood the meaning of the phrase “mind-numbingly dull” before beginning to take these shifts. Unfortunately, longer shifts were one of the consequences of Ron’s departure. And, even worse, there wasn’t even anyone left to keep the remaining person in the tent company. Harry turned towards the tent. He wondered what Hermione was doing, if she felt as bored as he did at that moment. He liked to think that she was curled up on her bunk contentedly reading one of the many books she had brought with her in her bag. He imagined it being _Hogwarts: A History_. She had always liked that one. It was the size of a dictionary and he could swear she had read it cover to cover at least three times already. He closed his eyes, holding that image of Hermione in his mind, and then opened them again and blankly stared out at the barren landscape around him. It was early December, but at least where Hermione had landed them this time it wasn’t cold.

The radio blared to life from inside the tent, bringing him out of his thoughts. They were rarely fully in range of any radio stations and from the staticky sounds travelling to him, it seemed this place was no better than most. It filled him with guilt. She had stuck with him through every single one of his hardships and yet he was completely helpless to do anything for her. He could never repay for her loyalty and kindness, or all the times she had saved his life, or the many years when she had let her blind faith in him drive her actions. She had always been at once his most trusted friend and valuable ally and without her he was quite sure he wouldn’t have even survived this long. And he couldn’t even get her a single radio station to listen to. He thought the sound would cut quickly as the music was barely audible over the hissing white noise, but to his surprise several seconds passed and the loud garbled sounds continued to pour from the tent and, if anything, it made him feel even guiltier. This was what she had now; a tent in the middle of nowhere, hunted like an animal, dwindling rations, and nothing to do. He sighed and imagined her once again, but this time curled up forlornly next to the radio. Fuck it; guard duty could wait. He got up and stretched his aching joints before retiring to the tent.

Inside, he saw Hermione curled up in a despairing ball, as he imagined she might be. Now that he was much closer, he could identify the intermittent musical notes on the radio as the song “O Children.” She stared blankly in the direction of the radio and he was sure she barely even heard it over her screaming thoughts, which were probably about missing Ron. Even though he knew Hermione and what to expect from her, he was still struck by how depressed she looked. He knew things were rough ever since Ron left them, but she looked beyond broken.

Harry shuffled past her and wearily sat in one of their few folding chairs. There wasn’t anything for him to say and he knew it; there existed no encouraging words that would lift either of their spirits after Ron had left them, or lessen their despair over the past several months they had had of unsuccessfully hunting for horcruxes, or ease their pain over all the people who had died in those past several months by Voldemort’s hand, or at least his orders. Instead, he watched this beautiful bright witch, the bossy know-it-all little girl who had become a woman equally as strong-willed and stubborn, and felt his love for her fill him. He loved her. He needed her. And she had loyally stayed by his side and selflessly given him everything he had ever needed without so much as a complaint. In that moment, he made a decision; he was going to cheer up Hermione if it was the last thing he did.

He rose from his chair and crossed the meter or so of space between them. As he stood in front of her and she finally turned away from the radio to cast curious eyes up to him, Harry felt stupid. He didn’t know how to stand or what to do with his hands. He swallowed hard and tentatively held out his hand for her to take, feeling that this gesture he was about to make was too odd, too silly, not enough. She eyed his hand and looked at him fully in the face for the first time all day, an annoyed expression across her features, and it was only then that Harry noticed how shiny her cheeks were and realized that she had dried tear tracks on them from an earlier bout of crying. This was the third time this week he had noticed her crying and every time she had been wearing the horcrux locket, he noted. He supposed that wasn’t all that surprising; it had a way of taking their worst emotions and amplifying them, or worse, using them against each other. She sat still for a long moment and Harry began to wonder if she was going to even accept his gesture, until finally she sighed and reluctantly put her hand in his and used the other to help raise herself from the steps to stand beside him.

Once she was standing at her full height, Harry quickly yet gently reached out and began running his fingers along either side of her neck. He was searching for the locket’s chain but Hermione didn’t seem to realize that; her eyes went wide and she darted them back and forth searching Harry’s face with a confused yet vulnerable expression. Her lips parted slightly and she took a small step towards him and raised her head to give him better access to her neck. A wild thought entered his mind: _does she actually want me to touch her? Not just like this to remove the horcrux, but to… really touch her?_ Unhesitatingly, he slid newly trembling fingers along her neck as he traced the horcrux’s chain to the clasp. Understanding dawned on her face and her expression changed to one of such overwhelming tenderness that he felt a lump form in his throat and had to drop his eyes down to her neck as he focused on undoing the clasp. Her locket removed, he tossed it to a small table beside them. Neither of them needed to wear it right now; they had taken turns feeling miserable for long enough. She watched him toss it aside and then met his eyes again, her expression somewhere between a question and a dare. He saw the fierceness in her eyes warring with the despondency on her face, the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and the firm determined set of her jaw and his uncertainty grew. He had no idea how this was going to go over. But, he reasoned, if it didn’t work, he would just need to move on to something else that would. He couldn’t bring Ron back, end the war, or even make their accommodations more comfortable, but he could offer himself to her in whatever way she needed him.

He shuffled his feet as he moved a couple of steps closer to her and she easily let him into her space. Then, so subtly that he almost thought it could have been his imagination, she leaned her body in towards him by just a few centimeters. His heart fluttered as he felt the heat of her body so near and saw her face moving just that much closer to his own and considered his next move. No matter what body language, real or imagined, that he was getting from Hermione (and at this point he still wasn’t absolutely sure that his boredom and horomones weren’t imagining some subtle signals,) he knew better than to try to explore it just then. So, instead he grabbed her hands and backed the two of them up until they were in the center of the room. He stared into her misery, her hopelessness, and still holding her hands he began to dance.

Pursing his lips into an apologetic smile at how silly he must look, he wiggled his hips in an exaggerated motion while moving his hands back and forth, shaking her body with his as he did so. She sighed, but the corners of her mouth quirked up into the smallest hint of a smile. He knew that look; he had seen it many times. He could almost tangibly hear her exasperated yet indulging voice as she would always halfheartedly chastise, ‘Really Harry?’ It made him smile, the first genuine smile he had had in weeks, and he wiggled his hips a little faster. Then, like a floodgate, Hermione’s mouth twisted into a smile so wide, it showed all of her teeth. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anything quite so beautiful. She looked a bit sheepish but her smile only grew wider as she began to move on her own with the same absurd dance moves he had been leading them through. Harry’s smile was so wide that his face hurt as the two of them began moving around each other and then he spontaneously lifted his arm and twirled her. They went on dancing for several minutes, mindlessly twirling each other and rocking back and forth together, their happiness and closeness growing with each passing second. The song’s music swelled into a cheerful sounding chorus, lifting in tune with their spirits. _“Hey little train, Wait for me,”_ the chorus belted out as Harry twirled Hermione again, _“I once was blind, But now I see, Have you left a seat for me...”_ Her hair flew around her face as she giggled and in that moment Harry thought he had never seen her look more beautiful.

They each grabbed for the other’s hands and fell into one another, his nose landing on her shoulder. She smelled of their cheap soap, detergent, and warm skin. Without thinking, he leaned his whole body against her and buried his nose in her shoulder. Her newly radiating warmth, both physically and emotionally, was comforting. In turn, he felt her also wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a tight hug. He closed his eyes and clung to her as they continued to dance, their movements growing continuously slower. They had nearly stopped moving by the time the song ended.

When the music stopped, the two of them continued to hold on to one another, neither of them wanting to let go. He felt Hermione’s breath hitch and her grip tighten incrementally on him and he gripped her sweater harder as his way of saying that he understood her need to be held, that he was feeling it too, and that she could hold on to him for as long as she wanted. They stood still and held on to each other for several long seconds before she slowly loosened her grip and he reluctantly did the same. They each took a small step back to stare once again into each other’s eyes. This time, Harry saw the same despair and love in her eyes, but also unmistakable heat. Her lips parted and she shifted her gaze from his eyes down to his mouth and back again. He gulped and felt a fire begin in his stomach and his lips ache with want. Merlin, she was so beautiful. He eyed her mouth and clenched his jaw. He didn’t think he should kiss her. Hermione was in an emotionally fragile place and it would be wrong to take advantage of it. Besides that, he was pretty sure she still had feelings for Ron, and likely vise versa. All the same, he couldn’t bring himself to step back. So instead he stayed still, letting his breath mingle with Hermione’s as they stared at one another, their mouths just centimeters apart. Hermione made the decision for both of them by leaning in just far enough to brush her lips against Harry’s in a tentative kiss.

His lips tingled pleasantly and instinctively he chased her mouth, latching his and hers firmly together and deepening the kiss. She gripped his bicep and he had a second’s panic that he had misread the situation and she was going to push him away, but she just held his arm firmly. He couldn’t believe he was kissing his best friend, and it felt just as right and frightening as he had always imagined it would. He felt that he shouldn’t be doing this, that it was wrong… Ron… No, Ron abandoned them, he didn’t owe him anything. But Hermione was still pining for him. She hadn’t said as much – they never talked about it – but Harry could feel it, in the way she often cried when she thought he was out of earshot and her increasingly depressed demeanor since Ron’s departure that Harry knew had nothing to do with their dwindling food rations. He didn’t want to be Hermione’s stand-in, the boy she kissed while thinking about the boy she really wanted. And to let himself pretend that that wasn’t what Hermione was doing was just letting himself taking advantage of her and to have his heart broken. And it was going ruin their friendship, possibly even the mission. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in for one last hard kiss, just to selfishly give himself something to remember, and then broke it.

They were still very close, sharing each other’s air and Harry could hear Hermione’s hard breathing just barely audibly above his own. He flicked his gaze upward to Hermione’s face and for a silent moment they stared at one another, searching each other’s eyes. Harry wasn’t sure what he should say: _‘Thank you, that was wonderful?’_ Or _‘I’m sorry, it won’t happen again?’_ At long last, Hermione sighed and backed away. Still staring at him she placed her hand onto the table and began feeling blindly for the locket.

“No!” Harry said much more forcefully than intended. She froze with the locket in her hand. “I mean, I’ll take it.”

“Harry,” she said chidingly, “you’ve been wearing it almost all day -”

“I don’t care.”

He felt guilty enough for what had just happened between them; there was no way he was going to allow that locket to take advantage of Hermione’s feelings around their kiss, whatever those feelings were, and use them against her.

He held out his hand. “I insist.” When she hesitated more, he added, “please.”

Wordlessly, Hermione marched up to him. Her fist still clenched around the locket, she rested her hand inside his and studied his face for another moment. Harry held his breath. Her stare was so intense that he felt like she was looking right through him. His eyes scanned her face and he wondered what she was thinking. She didn’t appear angry, or guilty, or even sad anymore. She seemed more curious, maybe a little wistful. What was she longing for? What did she want from him?

“Thank you, Harry,” she said simply and then left the tent.

When Harry followed behind her and lifted aside the flap to the entrance, he saw her sitting on the rock they had unofficially determined as their watch post, looking out at the barren countryside. It wasn’t yet her turn but Harry didn’t stop her.

Hours later when Hermione came in from her extra watch, she looked exhausted but peaceful. She also didn’t have any more dried tear tracks down her face, which was another improvement. Harry, for his part, had had little to do except think about that kiss and what he should do about it. In the intervening three hours, he had vacillated between feeling guilty for acting upon his feelings, especially at such a bad time, and wanting to apologize for his actions versus building simmering feelings of injustice and jealousy and wanting to angrily confront her. He had begun to obsessively play the kiss over and over in his mind, knowing how Hermione had been thinking about Ron as it happened. He could have stopped the kiss from happening altogether, but he hadn’t and it was his fault. He should have been stronger. Ron was so undeserving of her. And Harry had feelings, too. Didn’t she think any better of him than as a stand-in? It was getting hard to tell which of his feelings were his own and which were from the horcrux. In the end, he removed the horcrux from around his neck and sat it down on the table beside him for half an hour or so to help clear his mind before he finally settled on a course of action.

“I made tea,” he said quietly to Hermione, standing next to the kitchen table and two steaming cups when she finally entered the tent. He had made it some time ago, but had put two re-heating charms on the cups as he waited for her to come back.

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Thank you, Harry.”

She approached the table and Harry sat down as she pulled out her own chair. They sipped their tea in silence and it was almost like nothing had happened, save for the charge he could feel in the air. Hermione was studying him from behind her teacup. She opened her mouth and then closed it twice as if she wanted to say something, but remained quiet. Her expression wasn’t heavy or accusatory and she didn’t even appear upset; she looked curious. Still, the silence stretched between them for so long that Harry was beginning to think they wouldn’t speak at all that night. He drained his tea, then removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the day and thinking about how tempting crawling into his bunk was when Hermione unexpectedly spoke up.

“Harry?”

He hurriedly slid his glasses back over his nose and eyed her cautiously. She was giving him one of her looks that said whatever was coming next was going to be uncomfortable at best.

“What is it, Hermione?”

“I think we should talk about earlier.”

“Oh. Which earlier?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t play stupid.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Sorry?”

“That kiss. Did you mean it?”

Harry gulped, not sure what to say. Technically, she had kissed him, but he supposed that didn’t really matter. He had kissed her back and enjoyed it quite a bit, but he wasn’t sure whether or not he should say that. As far as Hermione knew, he was still pining after Ginny and he wondered if maybe that was for the best.

It was a lie, of course; he hadn’t thought much of Ginny since the three of them had been on the run. Time and distance away from her had given him perspective. He had realized over these past several months that it wasn’t Ginny he was into so much as the family who came along with her, the prospect of being part of a big, loving family. And, while it was flattering to be with a girl who worshiped him like she did, he had begun to realize with increasing clarity that it wasn’t he who Ginny had idolized all those years, but The Boy Who Lived. She was star struck, not love struck and their relationship and even their friendship had always been tainted by that. Hermione was different – she had never been impressed with his fame. She gave him praise when it was warranted for what he did and not who he was and also wasn’t afraid to knock down his pride by a notch or two whenever he needed it. He had never met a girl like her. In fact, he had never met anyone quite like her before. He had known that she was different from the day they met when she had marched into his train carriage, aimed her wand in his face, and repaired his glasses with a spell she had taught herself before the start of their formal schooling. There was no one, witch or wizard alike, who he would trust more or rather have in his corner. And he couldn’t imagine loving a woman more fiercely than he did Hermione. But that was a lot to load onto his friend, especially in the middle of a war and after her love interest left them just over a week ago. It irritated him that she would even be asking him the question, to be honest; his answer wouldn’t change things, except maybe for the worse, especially with how she and Ron felt about each other. And yet, this was his best friend. And if she was asking, Harry had to expect that it was for good reason. Their friendship had stood nearly every test imaginable. He decided it was best not to lie.

“Yes.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I don’t know.” He deadpanned, trying to hide his irritation at the question and then shrugged noncommittally. “Doesn’t matter. You’re with Ron, yeah? Or you will be soon enough.”

Hermione pursed her lips and set her teacup down firmly on her saucer. “For me, it was towards the end of Third Year.”

Harry stared, feeling bewildered. “What?”

“I knew I fancied you,” she said slowly as if he was a dolt, “since the end of Third Year.”

Harry blinked several times as he took that in. She… since Third Year? Harry searched Hermione’s face for any trickery, but found none. She looked a little scared, but her eyes trained on him, steady and with as much poise as he had ever seen her. She wanted him to know just how serious she was. As Harry let the weight of her words sink in, the beginnings of a smile began tugging at the sides of his mouth. He tried to fight it, but before long a wide grin had overtaken his face.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

“I had no idea.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? None at all?”

He shook his head. Hermione gave him a lopsided grin and rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, you really are an idiot, Harry Potter.”

"I... What about Ron? Don't you... you fancy him, yeah?"

She shook her head. "Honestly Harry, I thought you knew. No. Of course not. Not for a while now. Or, at least not since last year."

"Oh. Lavender?"

Harry inwardly cringed thinking about that awkward relationship between Ron and Lavender Brown they had all had to endure last year. The constant public snogging; Ron's uncomfortable late night bragging in the boys' dormitory over his perceived sexual prowess once he and Lavender started shagging; and how, shortly afterwards when Ron was poisoned Lavender had begun hounding him to talk about Ron's feelings when Ron was either too cowardly or insensitive to just tell her he was no longer interested.

"You mean how he kept snogging her out in front of everyone, obviously to make me jealous? You're right; that didn't help. But I was never really that interested." She shook her head. "Ron was never right for me. I realized in Fourth Year that he fancied me."

"Hard to not notice," Harry deadpanned.

"Yes, well, he would say and do things as if he fancied me that were very sweet. But they were almost always followed by him putting me down, acting cold and distant, going into jealous rages, or snogging some other girl in front of me. Sometimes I wasn't even sure why he wanted me around as a friend and then he would change again and go back to being sweet as if nothing had happened. It drove me crazy. And I think I mistook that confusion from the back and forth as some other emotion for a while. I suppose Lavender was the last straw, but it had been coming for a while. I still wanted to be his friend. And I can't imagine life anymore without the Weasleys."

Harry nodded even as he wondered if, with his permanent break-up with Ginny and Ron’s departure from their lives, if they would ever be truly welcomed at the Weasley’s again.

"I understand. They were always there for me, too."

"Especially after I had to obliviate my parents." Hermione looked wistful for a minute, but then shook her head and shrugged. "But all thoughts of romance were over by the time he stopped dating Lavender. And after he stormed off and left us here, well, I don't even know if I can consider him a friend after that."

“Then why have you been crying so much?”

“Because I’m _sad_ , Harry. I’m sad that our best friend abandoned us. That I trusted in him and had to find out I can’t rely on him the way I hoped I could. I’m sad that I lost one of my two best friends.

"He didn't mean it. It was the horcrux affecting him."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Yes, that's part of it."

"What?"

"Harry, the horcrux just amplifies what's already there. I agree that he wouldn't have behaved that way without the horcrux's influence, but he has a history of making thoughtless, stupid, selfish decisions. And he's always been jealous of you. The horcrux just made him act on it."

"Well, that may be, but I for one hope he comes back."

"So do I."

They sat in silence for a bit as Hermione began to once again quietly sip her tea and Harry let all this new information sink in. Hermione sounded rather sure of herself that she was over Ron. And he believed her. And he was willing to bet Ron had known it as well, even as he had talked to Harry over the summer about wanting to start a relationship with Hermione once the new school year started. It was his way of claiming a girl who no longer wanted him and who he suspected had instead fallen for his best friend.

"Wait, you said you fancied me since Third Year? Why didn't you say something?"

"Well, I did ask you to the Yule Ball in Fourth Year."

“I think I would have remembered something like that.”

Hermione gave him a lopsided grin and rolled her eyes. “I said, ‘I don’t have a date. Have you asked anyone to the Yule Ball yet?’ And you said you were going to ask Cho.”

“Oh. Oh!”

“And Viktor had already asked me, so I found him straightaway and said ‘yes.’”

“Oh. I’m sorry Hermione. I hadn’t realized. I thought you were just looking out for me.”

She blew over the rim of her steaming cup and her grin grew wider. “Well, I was doing that, too.”

“I know I already fancied you by then. I would have gone with you, I just didn’t know. I actually was going to ask you at first, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I mean, I didn’t want to ask you as a friend, but I didn’t want to ask you as my girlfriend if you didn’t feel the same way… and then Cho just seemed so much less complicated -” he cut himself off. This was coming out all wrong. “I mean, not complicated in that way, you’re not complicated -”

She chuckled. “I understand completely. I had thought about asking you out again in Fifth Year, but by then you were talking a lot about Ginny and suddenly _Ron_ felt a lot less complicated.”

At that, she burst out laughing and Harry couldn’t help but join her.

“I want you to know,” he said once their laughing had died down, “Ginny and I are over. For good.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“You may not realize this, but you are very transparent.” She paused and considered him curiously. “When did you know?”

“That I fancied you?”

Hermione nodded and took another sip of her tea.

Harry thought back on it. “I’m not sure exactly when I started to fancy you, but I realized it around the time of the first challenge. Everyone except you thought I cheated and put my own name into the Goblet. And they were wearing those stupid ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons.”

“I remember,” she said with a grimace.

“But there you were, standing by me and just trying to keep me alive. And when all those articles came out saying you and I were together and everyone thought it was true, I started to wonder why it wasn’t.”

She nodded. “Remember Buckbeak?”

Harry nodded eagerly. “Yeah.”

“When Ron was lying there in Madam Pomfrey’s office and it was left to just you and I to rescue Buckbeak and Sirius,” she paused. “Well, I realized that, well, I wasn’t happy that Ron was injured or anything, but I was glad it was going to be just you and me. I trusted you not to muck it up and I knew you trusted me, too. You really _saw_ me, in a way a lot of others never had.” She paused again and her cheeks began to turn a light shade of pink. Harry leaned forward incrementally in his chair; he was hanging off of every single word. “I might have made you stand just a bit closer than was necessary to use the Time Turner. The chain has an extending charm I didn’t use.”

Harry’s grin was so wide the muscles in his face were starting to hurt. “Really?”

“You know Harry,” she stated matter-of-factly but with her cheeks burning pinker, “you always were quite handsome.”

Quickly, Harry rose from his chair, made the few steps over to where Hermione was seated, and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He wasn’t sure whether or not this was a good idea, but with the world crumbling around them, he would be damned if he didn’t take advantage of every opportunity to live his life as much as he could, for as little time as he had left. Hermione was quick to kiss him back. She lifted her hands to his face and lightly cupped his head, her fingers wrapped around the back of his neck as she ran her thumbs over his jaw. Harry poured himself into the kiss – all the years of silent pining where he had placed an imaginary ‘off limits’ sign on her, his love for her, his jealousy over her past with Ron, his frustration over hiding and the war. Hermione responded enthusiastically and met his kiss with equal passion, moving her lips fast and hard against his, and it was embarrassing how quickly his body was responding to it. He just hoped his excitement wasn’t showing too prominently. He had wanted this for years, had wanted Hermione, and he had never even let himself realize just how much until he was kissing her. He thought about how he had resigned himself to never be with her and thought that he was the biggest idiot for ever having let her go without a fight.

He didn’t want to push things too far and there was only so much he could even do with their awkward positioning but he put a hand experimentally on her waist through her sweater. To his delight, she leaned forward so he could wrap his arm around her. The movement made him stoop, which made their positioning even more awkward, but Harry didn’t even care. He was touching her, even through clothes, and the most intoxicating thing about this was that she wanted it, wanted his touch. His fingertips rubbed small circles into the small of her back as they continued to kiss. Her hands trailed down to his chest and then she gave him a gentle push. Harry quickly broke the kiss and took a step back thinking that he had done too much, had pushed this too far somehow. He had an apology ready on his lips. But then in the next moment, Hermione was on her feet and she pulled him in for another kiss. They wrapped their arms around each other and she pulled him firmly against her. His cheeks burned in embarrassment, as with their bodies pushed so flush against each other, there was no way she wouldn’t feel his erection. Sure enough, Hermione moved her hips a few centimeters to get just incrementally closer to him and then broke off the kiss with a surprised “oh!”

“Sorry,” he apologised, cheeks feeling aflame.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just not,” she paused and here it looked like she was actually embarrassed. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

Harry gaped at her. “Oh! No, of course – I wasn’t expecting you to -” A thought momentarily flashed through his mind of Hermione looking at his penis, touching it, undressing herself… He’d never done anything even approaching that before, and he was almost certain that Hermione hadn’t, either. He shook his head and grinned nervously. “I’m not ready for that, either.”

She smiled shyly and then leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest. “Okay then. Good.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that his erection didn’t make things too awkward and gently wrapped his arms around her back. “Yeah. Good.”

She raised her head and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the tea. I think I’m going to go to bed, though. It’s been a long day.”

Harry’s eyes followed her backside as she made her way to her bunk and thought about what it would feel like to join her. Not that night of course; he had meant it when he said he wasn’t ready for that just yet. And ultimately any decisions about how far they went and when – or if – they ever started shagging would be left entirely up to her. But with he and Hermione having admitted their feelings to one another, Harry felt like they had entered a new world of endless, thrilling possibilities.

* * *

Ever since Harry, Hermione, and Ron had started camping out in the tent, time had usually passed with unbelievable boredom, often a bit cold, and sometimes hungry. When they weren’t on the run, they discussed the same old information and theories over and over again until Harry had a hard time processing words. Guard duty was mind-numbingly dull and wearing the horcrux made his worst nightmares feel like clear premonitions of the future. None of those things changed after Ron left; if anything the increased time he had to spend on guard duty and wearing the locket made some days just barely on the right side of bearable. But there was a new lightness in the air without Ron’s frequent jealous surliness and with Harry no longer feeling like he needed to hold in his feelings for Hermione. It also helped that, since that first night, their endless boredom largely subsided as their time was increasingly spent snogging. 

In the mornings, they made out after breakfast, or sometimes before they even had a chance to finish breakfast. Whenever one of them came back in from a guard duty shift, the both of them usually rushed to one of their bunks to heat up together in a tangle of entwined limbs and tongues. And before bed they often gave each other goodnight kisses that ended up lasting long into the night. For the first several days they never went further than kissing, not even when they laid on top of each other on one of their bunks with Hermione moaning into his mouth while Harry felt so hard he thought if she touched him, he would explode. He hadn’t been this happy in months.

Long passionate snogging sessions eventually grew into more a little over a week later. Hermione was lying on top of him in his bunk and they were kissing so intensely that Harry felt lightheaded. His hard penis throbbed in his pants aching to be touched, but Harry was ignoring it as usual; Hermione had shown no interest in touching him and there was no way he was going to ask. After their snogging sessions, he usually slipped off to the bathroom to take care of himself and that arrangement was fine by him. He felt lucky to just be allowed to kiss and hold her; this alone was much more than he had ever expected to ever have of her. His hands were gripping her sides, his thumbs rubbing little circles into her back. When she broke their kiss and began gently kissing the side of his neck, his shut his eyes and groaned in pleasure.

“Oh, Hermione,” he moaned.

Her lips stopped moving and she grew quiet. Harry’s heart thudded as he wondered what he might have done wrong, but his fears were quickly dispelled as she shifted her weight to look down on him and he saw a dark hunger in her face he had never seen before. To his surprise, she guided one of his hands under her sweater and up to her chest and he gasped as he found himself touching her breasts over her lacy cotton bra. He glided his fingers over the bare skin peeking out from her lace and felt her break out into goosebumps. Then, uncertainly, he cupped her breast. He could feel the hard nub of her nipple straining under the cotton and his mouth watered as he thought about taking it into his mouth. Instead, he ran his thumb over it and then took his index finger and thumb and rolled it between his fingers, tugging it in the way he wished he could do with his mouth. In response, Hermione moaned and began rutting enthusiastically against him. Instinctively, he bucked his hips, chasing after more of the delicious friction she was creating between them, desperately seeking release. She sat up and threw her sweater over her head, then motioned for him to do the same, which he eagerly did. He stared at her lithe body and the swell of her breasts under her white cotton bra and felt dizzy with happiness and lust. Then she reached back and undid the hook of her bra and Harry was treated for the first time to a view of her breasts. They were on the smallish side, he knew that already, but surprisingly round and perky. They were beautiful. She was beautiful. Hermione laid back down over him and he moaned as he felt her breasts come into contact with his bare chest.

“Merlin, you feel amazing,” he whispered.

He pinched one of her nipples and heard her let out a little moan and it emboldened him. He lifted the other to his mouth and looked hesitantly to Hermione, waiting for her permission, which she did with an enthusiastic nod. He took the bud into his mouth, licked it, and gave it a suck. She began rutting against him harder and he began bucking his hips in time with her movements. He let his head fall back onto the pillow and then let out a low moan. She laid down on top of him and made little gasps with each upward thrust over his hard and straining penis, which were in time with his own little grunts of pleasure he couldn’t help but let fall from his lips. He felt his orgasm building. He tried not to think about the beautiful witch on top of him or the sinful sounds she was making as she pleasured herself on top of him. Instead, he tried to think about the spinning staircases at Hogwarts, at the utter confusion he was in during his first week of school and how once he had accidentally walked in on Fluffy the three-headed dog while trying to find his way to Charms class. He quickly lost his focus though, finding it impossible to distract himself. The feel of her body, the way she rubbed against him – it all just felt too good. Just as he was about to lose control, Hermione cried out, “yes, yes, yes!” into his ear and he felt her shuddering on top of him. Almost immediately afterwards, his body stiffened and he came so hard that his vision whited out. When he opened his eyes, he saw Hermione studying him with a look of curiosity on her face. Harry quirked his eyebrows, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“What is it?”

“I was always curious what it would look like when you… well, you know, when you had an orgasm.”

Harry’s cheeks burned. He imagined he looked pretty stupid; his face was probably twisted in some silly expression that looked like he’d dropped a hammer on his foot.

“I’d...” she faltered, her cheeks also turning a light shade of pink. “Well, I liked it. I’d like to see it again.”

She did, in fact, see it again later that night as they feverishly rutted against each other after she returned from guard duty and then again two days later. Harry was almost ashamed of himself over how cravenly he wanted this woman, but was spurred on by how badly she seemed to want him in return. One night about a week after they shared their first orgasms with each other, she surprised him again by reaching into his trousers and touching him for the first time. He supposed if he really thought on it that the faster pace of their physical relationship shouldn’t be all that surprising to him; unlike his experiences with his former girlfriends at Hogwarts, he and Hermione had been best friends for long enough that they shared a closeness he couldn’t imagine having with anyone else. And it didn’t hurt that they were two hormonal teenagers locked alone in a room with little else to do.

She had found his penis fascinating, much to both Harry’s amusement and discomfort. He laid back on his bunk and let her stare at it, trace her fingers along its length, and run her fingertips along the head. He at once felt rather self-conscious at her paying so much attention to it and also turned on that she was so interested in it. Then she gripped her hand around him and pumped until he came. Afterwards once he came down from his high he undid her trousers and she guided his hand to her clitoris to show him how she liked being touched. He always wondered whether or not she touched herself and, now knowing she did, he found the thought highly erotic. He let her guide him through how to rub her clitoris and then once her folds were wet he slipped a finger inside her and she showed him how to find the special spot inside her that always made her come. To his amazement, she came under his touch after just a few minutes. The sight of her face as she came for him was enough to make him hard again and that night the two of them finished the evening together in the shower wanking one another into exhaustion.

Being with Hermione made Harry feel light. For the first time in a long time, he began to think about what life might be like after the war was over and Voldemort was dead. Would he move into 12 Grimmauld Place? Or would they get a last year at Hogwarts? He thought about being back in the Common Room with Hermione studying for their NEWTs, or finding her in the library with a stack of books beside her doing some “light reading” and then taking her to a quiet corner among the stacks for a long snogging session. He thought about finally holding hands with her as they walked down the corridors together. Would she want those things for them? The two girls he had previously kissed – Cho and Ginny – became his girlfriends instantly afterwards. But he didn’t exactly have the same history with them as he did with Hermione. He thought about Ron’s inevitable jealousy and petty anger, of Ginny’s possible accusations of betrayal towards him and Hermione, of Rita Skeeter following them around asking for an ‘exclusive’ on their relationship and the newspaper headlines that would follow. He was willing to risk it, but he understood if Hermione wasn’t. All the same, just being able to picture a life for himself that included an _after_ made him feel both determined and strangely serene.

* * *

One evening about three weeks in to this new relationship with Hermione, Harry was sitting outside on guard duty and it began to snow. It registered with him that it must be getting on Christmas, if it hadn’t already passed He thought back on all the recent Christmases he had spent at Hogwarts with his two best friends, or at Grimmald Place with the members of The Order, or with the Weasleys, and he was filled with sadness and longing over those days passed. He missed Molly’s itchy knitted sweaters, exchanging book gifts with Hermione, and playing wizard’s chess with Ron. True, he was very lucky to have Hermione with him at his side, but they were both still so far away from the people who they considered their family, not to mention all of their friends. He wondered if he would ever see them all again. Were the Weasleys alright? Were they all even still alive? What about Ron? Was he getting along alright without them, or had he been found by Death Eaters? What about Lupin? Had the werewolves tracked him down yet for refusing to join them on Voldemort’s side? Hermione sometimes listened to the news when it was possible to tune in to it and she hadn’t heard the names of any wizards or witches they knew on the list of confirmed dead, but that didn’t offer them much comfort. He craved the outside world. He wished it was possible to find The Order without putting himself and all the rest of them at terrible risk.

It was times like this that he missed his parents the most. He wondered what Christmas would have been like for him if they had lived and he had stayed in Godric’s Hollow. He thought maybe it was a small town, maybe with little shops along well-lit streets. He imagined his father smiling as he walked home carrying a pile of presents for him and his mother. The fantasy filled him with longing. He had mentioned wanting to go to Godric’s Hollow before. He accepted Hermione’s belief that it would be dangerous – he was sure that that was true. But, contrary to Hermione’s opinion, he didn’t think it was a waste of time. He wanted to see where he would have grown up if his parents had lived. He wanted to see where he had lived and they had died.

As he came in that evening from his watch, he saw Hermione poring over Tales of Beedle the Bard. As he got closer, he saw she was staring at just one page: the one with the handwritten symbol drawn onto it. She was so deep in thought that it appeared she hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her page.

“I’ve been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”

She looked up at him, but her eyes were unfocused, and he was sure she was still thinking about the mysterious mark on the book.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ve been wondering that too. I really think we’ll have to.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Did you hear me right?” he asked.

“Of course I did. You want to go to Godric’s Hollow. I agree, I think we should. I mean, I can’t think of anywhere else it could be either. It’ll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it’s there.”

“Er— _what’s_ there?” asked Harry.

Hermione tilted her head to the side and stared at Harry in utter confusion.

“Well, the sword, Harry! Dumbledore must have known you’d want to go back there, and I mean, Godric’s Hollow is Godric Gryffindor’s birthplace -”

“Really? Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?”

“Harry, did you ever even open _A History of Magic_?”

“Erm,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I might’ve opened it, you know, when I bought it…just the once…”

Hermione shook her head disapprovingly and Harry’s grin widened. He loved it when he saw glimpses of the sassy know-it-all he had gotten to know at Hogwarts. She had been showing more and more of her old self since the two them had first gotten together and it warmed his heart every time he saw it.

“Well, as the village is named after him I’d have thought you might have made the connection,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Right. Of course. Yes, I agree, the sword being there is the only thing that makes sense.”

“We’ll have to be extra careful.” Hermione stood up from her chair and began to pace. “After all, it is going to be extremely dangerous.”

“Yes, of course.” Harry’s grin completely overtook his face. He was going to Godric’s Hollow. It was something he had wanted for so long. And he hadn’t even realized how helpful it could be for their mission. He was going to visit his birthplace and get the sword to help end this bloody war all in one go. It was the best news he had heard in a while.

* * *

Harry barely registered his landing to wherever Hermione had apparated them to; he was in too much pain from Nagini’s bite and too weak from the blood loss. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he crumpled into the snow. Godric’s Hollow had been an unmitigated disaster. Voldemort had known they would come and had set a trap for them, just like Hermione had said he would. And not even her clever attempts to dodge identification, such as using the invisibility cloak and disguising themselves as a muggle couple with polyjuice potion, was enough to stop them from walking straight into it. If it wasn’t for Hermione bursting into the upstairs room when she had, they would both be dead. Not to mention that the sword was nowhere to be found.

Hermione’s face was white and panicked as she assessed the blood pooling into his sweater from the bite.

“You’re losing too much blood.”

Her voice felt far away and tinny. He closed his eyes as he felt himself start to slip into unconsciousness.

“Harry! Stay with me!”

He felt the cool glass of a bottle opening pushed against his lips and opened his mouth as Hermione poured what he could only assume was blood replenishing potion down his throat. He felt a tingle run through his body that slowly ran hot until he felt like his veins were on fire. The heat was quickly lost as Hermione cast _diffindo_ on his sweater, tearing it in half. He shivered and opened his eyes. Her arm was elbow deep into her bag and then she deftly pulled out a vial of dittany, which she then quickly began to pour over the bite marks. When the bleeding began to slow and the marks started to heal over, Hermione visibly relaxed and let out an audible sigh. She stood and aimed her wand directly at his chest.

“Camisia Reparo!”

His sweater sewed itself shut. He lifted his head and touched his chest in wonder. The sweater looked brand new. He let out a relieved sigh and let his head drop back onto the frozen earth.

“Are you alright, Harry? How are you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a train. But I’ll be alright.”

She nodded, satisfied and then quickly set about setting up the tent and casting protective and warding charms around them. Once all was done and they were safely inside, Hermione examined the bite mark again; it still hurt, but the marks themselves were almost gone. The two talked a bit about what had happened. Harry had the gruesome job of telling Hermione why the house had smelled like rotting meat and how long he thought Bathilda had been dead even before they arrived. Hermione told him about her own gruesome discovery she had made in Bathilda’s pantry of what she could only assume had at one time been the old woman’s internal organs and how shortly afterwards she had heard the commotion upstairs and knew they were in imminent danger. Hermione hugged him a little closer and they sat quietly for several moments contemplating their narrow escape.

They ate dinner that night in relative silence and afterwards, after Harry finished cleaning up the dishes, he joined Hermione at the mouth of the tent where she was looking up at the stars.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” she said quietly.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

He gripped her hand and they looked up at the stars in silence. They almost died. He had put Hermione in unnecessary danger. And he had originally wanted to go to Godric’s Hollow just to fulfill some silly Christmas fantasy. He darted his eyes to the side to look at her as she stared off in thoughtful silence and gripped her hand a little tighter. They were silent for several beats more, before Hermione broke the silence.

“You know, my parents always had this silly tradition of putting a pickle somewhere in the Christmas tree. I thought they were daft until I was seven.”

Harry chuckled. “Let’s do that next year.”

“What? Put a pickle in a Christmas tree?”

“Why not?”

She grinned. “Alright. Next year, we’ll chop down a fresh tree, string some lights and popcorn, and put a pickle in it. Somewhere inconspicuous. It’ll be a continuing Granger tradition.”

“Granger – Potter tradition,” he corrected her. “And we’ll invite the Weasleys.”

Hermione laughed. “Mister Weasley will be tickled at the muggle Christmas pickle tradition.”

Harry chuckled thinking about it, even as he still wondered if he and Hermione would still be welcomed at the Weasley’s, for Christmas or otherwise. Hermione seemed to be thinking the same thing as they fell into a heavy silence for several moments.

“What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do for Christmas?” Hermione suddenly broke in.

“I don’t know.” Harry considered this for a moment. “But right now, I wouldn’t mind being somewhere warm. Maybe a trip?”

“Alright.” Hermione nodded firmly. “A trip sounds good to me, too.”

“We’ll take it together,” Harry offered with a weakening smile.

She put her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Together.”

The air felt heavy with so many unspoken words. Hermione’s weariness over this war was just as palpable as his own. They would do whatever they could, of course, and maybe together with all the other good wizards and witches fighting alongside them Voldemort would lose. But that didn’t mean they themselves wouldn’t have to die for everyone else to win. It was odds they were always aware of, of course. But it felt so much more real, so much closer given their most recent brush with death. Hermione slid a few centimeters closer so their sides were touching and then gripped him tighter. He understood exactly how she felt; he pulled her in as close as possible and buried his nose in her hair. He inhaled deeply and was struck by how good she smelled; besides their shampoo, he could have sworn he was picking up hints of cloves and vanilla. She had done her hair up in a ponytail, but it still frizzed up from the dampness around them and he could feel strands of it tickling his nose and cheeks. As strange as it was, he realized that he loved it – feeling her body, smelling her, feeling her hair against his face. And he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head as he thought of possibly never being able to do it again.

Hermione dodged her head away. “I must smell awful. I haven’t gotten to wash my hair since before Godric’s Hollow.” He felt her shiver under his hands. “And that house.”

He looked to her and saw the slight flush in her cheeks, a bit more gaunt than they were at Hogwarts but smooth and beautiful nonetheless and he had a strong and sudden urge to touch her reddened skin there. He reached out and brushed his fingertips against her cheek and mused about how soft her skin was. His heart fluttered in his chest when he felt her lean into his touch.

“You don’t,” he insisted.

He leaned in slowly and shut his eyes firmly as he lovingly placed a kiss on her temple. She turned and buried her head in his neck. Her lips were resting against his pulse point, he noticed, and his heart sped up just a little bit quicker thinking about that. When a moment later he felt her kiss him there, his breath hitched and he moved his head down to the top of her neck, where he laid a series of soft kisses. He was rewarded with a moan and Hermione’s mouth began to wander downwards as well until she was tugging his sweater down to kiss the hollow of his throat and collarbone. He bit his lip and tilted his head back, giving her full access to his neck. Her lips worked their way across his collarbone and then up the side of his neck and finally to his chin. He bent his head back down so he could meet her lips with his. She turned her body fully so she was facing him, wrapped her arms around his torso, and brought him in close as their kissing became increasingly intense. Then he felt her hands slip underneath his sweater and run up and down his chest, which lifted his sweater up just enough to expose his stomach to the elements and he shivered. She ran her hands up even higher and intentionally pulled the shirt up with her, as a gesture for him to take it off. He broke their kiss and quickly removed his shirt but then couldn’t help the intense shiver from the cold that ran through his body. He grabbed a hold of her hand.

“Come on.”

She stood with him and they entered the relative warmth of the tent before he forcefully pulled her back into himself and kissed her hard, bringing his one hand up to tangle in her hair while he slipped the other one under her sweater and began caressing the soft skin of her stomach, then raised it higher to cup her breast over her bra.

“Oh God, Harry,” Hermione moaned in between kisses. “Yes, yes, touch me.”

Harry felt a thrill run through him at that. In the past three weeks he had touched Hermione several times, but he never got over that electricity he felt whenever Hermione let him know that she wanted him, Harry Potter, to be the one to touch her. He happily obliged, moving his other hand from the back of her head to pinch the nipple of her other breast. Hermione broke their kiss and then threw her sweater over her head, quickly followed by her bra. She pressed herself firmly up against him and wrapped one arm around his back while grabbing his bicep with the other and firmly planted her lips back onto his. He reveled in the feeling of her bare skin against his, in her hardened nipples pushing against his chest telling him that she was likely just as excited as he was. He ran his hand up and down her jaw, her arms, her back, delighting in her curves and the feeling of her warm skin. Her hands slid around to his back and then trailed downwards until they were cupping his arse and he started just a little in surprise but then attacked her mouth and jaw with new vigor. But then he felt her fingers trail alongside the waistband of his trousers and then dip inside the front, playing with the soft curls that lay just underneath for a few seconds before slowly undoing the button on his trousers and unzipping his fly. He broke off the kiss and, each of them lightly panting, they stared seriously into each other’s eyes. His heart hammered in his chest. In the three other times she had undone his trousers, it had never been quite like this; her hands had been unsure and tentative, each of them fumbling past a new line in physical intimacy. This was purposeful, like she was savoring the moment. She looked down at where she had his trousers open and his eyeline followed hers. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants, but just rested them there as if she was contemplating her next move.

“Hermione?” he asked. She looked up at him and his heart thumped in his throat at the desire and vulnerability both on her face.

“I – I want to have sex with you, Harry.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What? – Er – I mean – really?”

She nodded. “I don’t want to never know what it feels like to be with you, Harry.”

A wide smile crossed his face, which he shyly ducked his head down to try to hide. He could feel her nervousness and he understood it; this was a big step for them, and they were making it faster than he knew they would have if the attack at Godric’s Hollow hadn’t happened. It was a Big Deal. And he wanted to tell her that they didn’t need to rush, that they were young and had time, but he knew he couldn’t. Because he understood her reasoning and he felt exactly the same way.

“Are you sure?” he settled on.

She nodded and then stepped into his space, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off of her body, reached one hand up to his chin, and gave him a tentative kiss. His heart raced and when she broke the kiss, he let out a shaky breath and stared into her eyes reflecting back her uncertainty and want. She let her hand drift down to his chest and rested it over his heart. Concern crossed her face.

“Do you want -” she began.

“Yes.”

She giggled and he had to laugh at himself, too. His eagerness would have been embarrassing for him if it was with anyone else. The silliness of the moment passed quickly though and they were left again with the excited nervous energy that had been building between them since Hermione had made her announcement. Harry let out another shaky breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and nodded.

“Okay,” he said softly.

He reached out and touched the button on her trousers and then looked down as he unbuttoned and unzipped them for her, then gave them a little tug to pull them down over her thighs. He squatted down to pull them down to her feet and stood straight again as she stepped out of them. He stared at her as she stood in front of him in her pants and watched her then take those off, as well. He had seen her fully naked before just once, during that amazing time when they got each other off in the shower, and that was different. He and Hermione were about to cross a line he’d never imagined they were going to so soon. He gulped and took a moment to fully appreciate her, this gorgeous witch who wanted to be with him.

“You’re so beautiful, Hermione,” he sighed.

She grinned and stepped firmly into his space. He reached a hand around her waist as she hooked her fingers back into the waistband of his pants. She gave a hard yank and he was quickly standing naked in front of her, save for his pants and trousers, which were pooling just below his thighs. She stared at his erection and he felt strangely exposed and uncomfortable. He fought the urge to cup a hand over himself. Of course, Hermione had already seen his penis half a dozen times already, but this was different. She bent down to pull his trousers to around his ankles, like he did for her, and he stepped out of them, but then he stood still, frozen and feeling unsure of himself. There was no barrier between them anymore. Hermione wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him in. He could feel her naked body pressed up against his, his penis trapped between then, pushed flat between their stomachs. Her eagerness to feel his naked body so close to hers gave him the extra boost of confidence he needed and he pulled her in tight and gently kissed the side of her neck. She moved her head to the side to give him better access and he laid a line of kisses down to her collar bone, then downwards more to her chest until he fastened his mouth around her nipple. She moaned and he felt her move back half a step and snake her hand between them and begin slowly caressing his penis.

“Oh God, Hermione.”

Her hand felt so bloody good. He couldn’t wait to feel what it was going to be like to actually be inside her. He reached down and put his hand between her thighs, teasing his finger over her slick slit and heard her whimper. He let her slick coat the tip of his finger and then moved it up to her clit and began rubbing her clit in tight circles, just like she had taught him to. At this, Hermione tilted her head back and let out a full-on wanton moan. Harry had had the pleasure of learning these past few weeks that Hermione was just as vocal in the bedroom as she was outside of it: she communicated when she did or didn’t like something and Harry very much enjoyed having such an expressive teacher. Her moans went right to his throbbing penis. Harry rubbed his thumb through her slick; she was so wet by now that she was nearly dripping and Harry’s penis did a little jolt as he thought about what it would feel like to be in her slick heat. He re-positioned his hand so his thumb was rubbing her clit and then slowly slid his middle finger inside her. He moved his finger around looking for that little spot she had shown him she liked, and when he found it she cried out in pleasure and her hand on him sped up. She quickly sped up to full-on jerking him, and Harry gripped her shoulder and gritted his teeth and he felt weak in the knees. His orgasm was starting to rise up within him. He grabbed onto her arse and lifted her in the air. She responded by wrapping her legs around his waist.

“God, Hermione – I – bed?”

“Please.”

Harry gracelessly staggered the two of them over to his bunk and let Hermione fall down onto the bed before quickly scrambling to get on top of her and giving her a gentle kiss. They looked into each other’s faces again and the air around them began to get heavy again. Harry had an uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t good enough, that he would be terrible at sex, that Hermione would hate it. His feelings warred with his straining cock, which felt like it was about to explode any second. He reached between them and began running his thumb back over her clit.

“Harry, there’s really no need. I – I’m ready.”

Harry had had no doubt about that; by this time, she was soaked all the way up to her clit. He was ready too – too ready, which was the problem.

“I can make you come this way first. I – er – I’m – I’m not going to last very long.”

She shook her head. “I want to do it with you.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “I’ll try.” After a second’s hesitation he asked, “Are you ready?”

Hermione nodded and Harry looked down as he lined himself up and slowly slid into her. Harry was glad that they didn’t need to have a conversation about contraception beforehand – at the end of their Fifth year, Dumbledore had called an assembly where Madam Pomfrey had announced that she would start handing out potions to all the students, girls and boys, annually to prevent unwanted pregnancy. He had taken his. That Hermione wasn’t asking about it told him she had most likely taken hers, as well. All the same, he could have used the momentary distraction of having to put a condom on, or the dulling feeling he heard it created. Hermione felt incredible around him, her slick walls flexing around him and threatening to push him over the edge alone, but it was bordering on being too much.

“How does it feel?” he asked. “Does it – it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No. It’s…” she paused and looked thoughtful. “It’s maybe a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt.” She grabbed onto his shoulders and gave him a little push. “Keep going.”  
He pushed in slowly, partly out of concern for her and partly to keep himself from feeling overwhelmed and ending their first time before it even began. He grunted when he felt himself slide in to the hilt. Hermione was watching him curiously like he was an interesting matter of study. He would have expected no less; after all she had done the exact same thing the first time she saw his penis and the first time he had an orgasm around her. They stared at each other in a silent moment of communication and then she impatiently bucked her hips. Harry slowly slid out of her a few centimeters and could feel the slightest tug of her muscles, then slowly slid back in. _So this is what sex feels like_ , he thought. He slid out and in again and again, trying to build a slow rhythm between them. She tangled her hands in his hair and brought his face down to hers for a kiss, which he readily reciprocated. At last, Hermione broke the kiss and smiled at him.

“How does it feel, Harry?”

“Brilliant!” He cringed; what an awkward thing to say. He quickly added. “It feels amazing. Just like you.”

They hadn’t been at it for longer than a few minutes but he was close. Hermione was smiling and often studying him with interest, so she at least wasn’t hating it, but she didn’t seem to be particularly enjoying it, either. He was contemplating what else he could or should be doing to help her when he felt an explosion all over his body. His body stiffened and then shuddered violently through his release. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly through his many waves of orgasm. When it was over, he collapsed onto her and rested his head in her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said, his words muffled and his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“That’s okay, Harry. You did warn me.”

Harry lifted up and gingerly pulled out of her, then lay down beside her, put a hand between her legs, and began fingering her like she had shown him she liked to do on herself. She felt a little looser than before and he could feel his come mingling with her slick. Hermione closed her eyes and let out a series of soft little moans that grew in intensity until she came not even a minute later. Harry felt encouraged that she came so quickly after he was inside her; the sex must have felt at least somewhat good for her to already be that close. He heard that sex got better the more you did it. At least that’s what Lee Jordan and Ron said. Still, he made a note to ask Hermione later what he should do differently to make it better for her next time. Hermione turned onto her side and Harry wrapped himself around her and listened to her breathing as it slowed and evened out. He thought back earlier to how disappointed he had been about not being able to have a more traditional Christmas like he had in past years. But none of them would be as memorable as this one. And he hoped that, with Hermione at his side, this Christmas would pale in comparison next to the Christmases to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I want to thank whovianmuse for the late night brainstorming sessions as I struggled to get this story onto paper and my lovely former writing collaborator mjlove1 for reading this at the eleventh hour and giving me tremendous feedback.
> 
> FYI - I would like to do another part to this story as part of a short series wherein Ron comes back and, although Harry and Hermione are very happy to have him back, he's not so thrilled about the - ahem - developments in Harry and Hermione's relationship in his absence, so stay tuned if you're interested!


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